


Worth Waiting For

by fangirl6202



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Italian Racetrack Higgins, M/M, Modern Era, New Year's Eve, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Soft Spot Conlon, Spot Conlon is Bad at Feelings, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23391604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl6202/pseuds/fangirl6202
Summary: [Reupload]It was the infamous Jack Kelly's annual New Year's Eve party and Spot just wanted to leave. Don't get it wrong, Spot always enjoyed himself at parties: free booze, dudes looking for a good time, and seeing his friends absolutely shit-faced.He did not like, however, people he didn't know swarming around him like dumbasses. Drunk dumbassesThere was also the whole "kiss someone at midnight" thing. Spot wasn't a fan. He didn't like the idea of some guy try to make out with him because he had an opportunity to.As absolutely stupid as it was, he didn't want to kiss anyone at midnight unless they...they mattered to him.It didn't matter. As he said, it was stupid._____Spot Colon wasn't searching for anything on New year's Eve.But then he met a boy named Race, and everything changed.
Relationships: Crutchie/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 13
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I realized that this much porn at once was a bit too much, so I decided to split it up into chapters
> 
> Some of these are pure smut, some are pure fluff, it's all a dice roll. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Spot Conlon grimaced slightly as the burn of tequila hit his throat, paying little attention to the swarms of people around him, vaguely annoyed by it all.

It was the infamous Jack Kelly's annual New Year's Eve party and Spot just wanted to leave. Don't get it wrong, Spot always enjoyed himself at said party: free booze, multiple dudes just looking for a good time, and seeing his friends absolutely shit-faced which always led to Spot having a lot of blackmail material.

He did not like, however, crowds of people he didn't know (or like) swarming around him like dumbasses. _Drunk_ dumbasses.

There was also the whole "kiss someone at midnight" thing. Spot wasn't a fan. He didn't like the idea of some guy (or girl sometimes) being drunk out of his mind try to make out with him because he had an opportunity to.

As absolutely stupid as it was, he didn't want to kiss anyone at midnight unless they...they mattered to him.

It didn't matter.

As he said, it was stupid.

If he could have, Spot wouldn't have even come tonight, but as The World High's quarterback, he was socially obligated to make his presence known at every party. This night, however, was just aggravating.

By the time the third person bumped into him, spilling his drink, Spot was over the party. It was only 9 o'clock and Spot turned his attention to the makeshift dance floor.

Dozens of barely-clad teenagers sloppily made out as they grinded to a song Spot recognized somewhat, not caring that anyone and everyone was watching.

As his eyes skimmed the crowd, he found a few of his teammates together, dancing together like dumbasses and throwing back drinks they would definitely regret tomorrow.

A few feet away from the guys was none other than the host himself, Jack Kelly, with his hands on the waist of a cute little blond.

Whereas everyone around them was making out, the two of them were actually kissing, foreheads pressed together as Spot saw them mouth words of (probably) adoration to the other. Putting aside the fact that he was being a bit of a creepy stalker, Spot couldn't help but smile.

Who would have thought Jack Kelly, captain of the football team, would have fallen so hard for the sweetest kid at school. Everyone at The World knew Charlie Morris, who had gone by Crutchie for so long that even their teachers forget it wasn't his name.

He was nice to everyone and no one dared to mess with him knowing damn well that the football, baseball, soccer, swim, softball, cheer, dance, and track teams combined would beat the everloving shit out of them. He was a sweet kid with forearm crutches since childhood and the personality of an actual sunflower.

Jack always said it was Crutchie's smile and personality he fell in love with first, and Spot could believe it.

Realizingj justhow creepy it was to watch his two friends kiss, Spot moved along. He was happy for the two of them, he was, but it only worsened his mood. 

Spot wanted that. Wanted a steady relationship and someone he could build a future with. Wanted it bad, and as he looked out into the crowd, the universe seemed to hate him. It was couple after couple after couple--

Someone caught his eye. 

There, right in the middle of the floor, was a boy. A boy in sinfully tight leather pants and a mesh top that showed everything, blond curls bouncing with his every move.

Spot's mouth dropped slightly, watching the boy's hip roll in a way only a dancer could, and wasn't that a pretty sight?

The unknown boy was dancing alone, completely in his element, not caring that he was the only solo dancer.

His eyes were closed, and Spot saw eyeliner, smudged from the sweat that was basically dripping off the boy.

Who was this kid?

The World was in no way a small school, but Spot knew everyone. And he meant _everyone_.

But he didn't know this boy, and he would have. There was no way Spot would forget a knockout like that.

The boy's eyes shot open.

Suddenly, Spot understood those cheesy romance novels Romeo was always going on about because he could swear time slowed to a stop as he stared into those eyes. There was nothing on earth to compare them to, not the sky, not the ocean, not gems, nothing.

As if the boy could tell he was staring, he turned and met Spot's eyes. A gasp escaped him as the boy winked, twirling a bit, though Spot was sure it was just to show off his ass. Which Spot appreciated. He appreciated it a lot.

A smirk found the boy's mouth, making direct eye contact as he continued rolling those hips like that.

Throwing a wink at Spot, the boy's hands landed on his thighs, slowly trailing up and down, throwing his head back in what had to be a moan.

Spot stifled a moan of his own as he continued to watch this dance from across the room, never once tearing his eyes away from the ones staring at him. He must have been less subtle than he hoped because the boy winked and stopped dancing.

A low whine came from the back of Spot's throat, and he was suddenly glad that they were so far apart. The boy made his way off the dance floor, instead walking towards the stairs leading to the 2nd story of the house.

Spot watched that gorgeous ass sway as he walked up the stairs, only now realizing that the boy was wearing black stilletos.

Just as he was a third of the way up, he turned back to Spot and nodded his head towards the stairs, an obvious question in his smile.

_You coming?_

Spot was off the couch in a heartbeat.


	2. Chapter 2

Hands roamed, newly naked bodies grinding against one another as Spot pushed the unknown boy up against the wall of the bedroom they had raided. As his back hit against the wall, Spot's hand protecting the back of the boy's head, he grabbed at his trim waist to grind their throbbing erections together.

"Oh god, that feels so good."

He was surprised to hear something in his voice. It wasn't a slur, he'd stop immediately if it was a slur, but maybe an accent. Maybe Manhattan? He wasn't a fan of Manhattan kids, cocky little bastards, but for this boy? He'd gladly make the exception.

Spot snaked his fingers into the boy's curls and yanked lightly, exposing the taller boy's neck and bringing a whine out of him.

"F-Fuck! Bite me, let me ride you, fuck me, anything, please --" he babbled, bucking his hips upwards in a way Spot was sure was involuntary.

Begging was never something Spot thought he was into, no one had ever begged for him, but hearing the boy in front of him become a whimpering incoherent mess was definitely doing something to him. It was probably the accent. A moan came out of him and his lips went to the boy's neck, nipping small marks into the pale skin.

"You got a name?"

"R-Race." He stuttered out, rolling his hips into Spot's. He faltered a second. He was sure it was a fake name, hell his nickname was _Spot_ , but he wouldn't press the matter. The kid wanted to remain a secret? Fine by him. 

"Okay, Race," he purred, punctuating the name with a thrust forward, making the newly-dubbed Race groan. "You and I are gonna have a good time."

Race nodded fervently, yelping in surprise when Spot grabbed at his wrists. He didn't say a word, but the motion was obvious. Over your head.

One thing about Spot was that he had learned to read people: on the field, he could tell which plays to utilize just by glancing at the other team. In the bedroom, he could tell which people liked what, usually by just interacting with them.

Though that came with downsides. He knew his friend group in ways he didn't want to: Jack Kelly, with all his bravado, was such a submissive bottom Spot could almost smell it on him. Crutchie on the other hand was dominating as fuck and weren't those two an interesting pair? Romeo preferred slow love making whereas Albert preferred hard fast fucking, Specs and Elmer were ace, so they were just cuddle bugs.

But Race?

Oh, Race was _fun_.

There was no doubt in Spot's mind that he could be dominating, but he preferred to be fucked, enjoyed it even. Wanted to wait patiently as someone took him from behind, on his hands and knees, just begging to be owned, to be fucked. He was perfectly content being submissive and that was just as fun for Spot.

Race nodded as well as he could, holding his hands above his head and not moving an inch. Spot moved back, letting his eyes roam the boy splayed out in front of him. He couldn't deny that Race truly was a work of art.

He was pale, so much paler than Spot was, a ringlet of light marks around his Adams apple being the only exception. Perfect, smooth skin all available to Spot's tongue and teeth. If the night went well, and he was sure it would, that skin would be littered with marks.

Whereas Spot was all defined muscles, Race was thin, his legs being the most defined part of him. The suspicion of a dancer creeped back into his mind, now with a hint of a runner. Track wasn't out of the question. Spot's eyes roamed, groaning appreciatively, and Race let out a whimper, bucking his hips again as his dick leaked precum.

"You're a pretty sight," Spot whispered before he could think about it, before he could backtrack.

"Y-Yeah?" Race taunted, raising an eyebrow which should have been fucking illegal with how hot it was.

Never one to be one-upped, Spot pressed his thigh in between Race's legs, making him whimper. "Yeah, you are."

"Jesus Christ," Race cursed, trembling from the exertion of keeping his wrists in place. "P-Please don't leave me like this," he moaned, looking down at Spot with a wild look of desperation in his eyes.

How could he refuse that?

Leaning in to nibble on his neck again, Spot dropped his hands to the taller boy's thighs. He began running his fingers over him, sending shivers down Race's body. He kept at it for what felt like an eternity but he knew it was less than 5 minutes. Small whimpers came out of Race and when Spot dug his nails in, a guttural moan escaped his lips. Spot had a new goal in mind: to make him make that sound again.

"G-God!" He yelled as Spot suddenly dropped to his knees, biting marks into the places his hands were less than a minute ago. He made a point to ignore the cock next to him, near sobs escaping the boy

"Please! Please suck me off, please, please, plea-- holy _shit!"_

As Spot swallowed Race in one go, his head banged against the wall, and that glorious sound tumbled from his lips. Race wasn't huge, definitely not the biggest Spot had ever taken, but he did have a nice length on him. He took him inch by inch, wrapping his hands around his legs to bring him in closer until his nose was buried in his pubes.

"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck--" Race sobbed, fucking into Spot's mouth a bit. When he stopped, probably thinking Spot couldn't take it, Spot raised a hand to slap the boy's ass. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get him moving. And it worked.

"W-Want me to fuck your mouth? Huh? Is that what you want?"

In place of pulling off and replying, Spot looked up at him, batted his lashes innocently enough, and hummed around the length in his mouth. Just like that, any trepidation was gone. With a guttural groan, Race let himself go, hitting the back of Spot's throat with every thrust. Spot _loved_ it. He had learned years ago that his gag reflex was next to non-existent, and he had learned that blow jobs, giving or receiving, were a favorite pastime of his.

"Shit," He moaned as Spot began pulling back in order to slam forward in time with Race's thrusts. His legs were trembling so much that Spot genuinely believed he was holding him up. He kept sucking and licking and humming, his hands cupping Race's balls.

"Fuck, I-I'm gonna--" was the only warning Spot got before the taste of cum landed on his tongue. He moaned, swallowing every drop of the boy's load, all the while making eye contact with Race. Spot suddenly wished the roles were reversed. Just the thought of Race on his knees was the hottest thing ever. 

Pulling off with a loud pop, he rocked back on his heels, looking up at Race with a smirk. Tantalizingly slow, he rose, wrapping his arms around the boy's trim waist. Sweat dripped off him, and he licked a bead off his neck, thoroughly enjoying the squeal that followed.

"You," Spot murmured in his ear. "have been real good, sweetheart." The pet name had its desired effect as Race whined. "So fucking good for me, doll. It's only fair I return the favor, yeah?"


	3. Chapter 3

Fuck," Spot hissed as Race hooked his legs around his waist, the boy's erection pressing into his abdomen as Race's back hit the wall.

If he had been turned on before, it was _nothing_ compared to now. Never had he gotten so hard so quickly as he watched Race take Spot's fingers as he prepped him, splayed out in between Spot's body and the wall with his legs spread whore-ishly, dick leaking precum onto the both of them.

It was a magnificent sight and it'd only gotten better when Race pulled out a condom (seemingly out of nowhere, even though Spot knew there were some in the bedside table), ripped the package open with his teeth and rolled it onto Spot's length.

Those long long legs were hugging him close as the taller boy lowered himself onto Spot's dick. And _fuck_ did Race feel good, so fucking tight and _warm_.

"Holy shit," Race winced, hands gripping onto Spot's hair. "You feel so fucking good."

Spot groaned, concentrating on not moving. He was strong, stronger and bigger than most would give him credit for, and he didn't want to hurt the kid. Race seemed to know what was on his mind. A second later, Spot yelled as Race took it on himself to go faster, taking all of his length in one go.

As he bottomed out, Race gripped Spot's hair tighter and began rolling his hips like he had on the dance floor and Spot was lost.

"You," Spot moaned as he grabbed Race's ass, nails digging in as he watched Race rolling his hips, taking his dick with every move, "are a fucking wet dream."

"Fuck," Race cursed for what must have been the 100th time that night, throwing his head back as he continued shamelessly fucking himself on Spot's dick. "I need, God, need y-you to--" He broke off into a torn sob as Spot found that spot, no pun intended, gripping his hair so hard he knew it would be aching throughout the weekend.

Not that he minded.

"What was that, baby?" Spot asked as he angled a thrust to his prostate again and again, bringing torn needy sobs out of Race. "What do you need?"

" _V-Voglio che mi a scopi più forte che puoi."_

Spot froze in less than a second, causing Race to yelp at the sudden change of pace. He was suddenly glad that there was a wall to keep Race from falling to the ground, because Spot was so shaken he wouldn't have been able to catch him.

To say he was caught off guard was an understatement. Were languages even a kink? Spot wouldn't know. The most he'd ever gotten was a Spanish boy from Harlem, but that didn't count if Spot already spoke the language.

"What did you say?"

"Fuck me as hard as you c-can," he begged, voice breaking on the last word. "Fuck me as hard as-"

" _Repeat_ what you said," Spot clarified, voice strained with want and need, not able to conceal the obvious lust in his eyes as he looked up at him. Spot saw the lightbulb go off in Race's head, saw the smirk on his face and he just knew he was screwed. This boy was going to be the death of him.

"You like me speaking Italian?" He teased shakily, grin that rivaled the Cheshire Cat's on his face. So _that's_ what it was, Italian! It had sounded familiar to Spot, and Italian should have been the first guess in his mind, but there was something about Race that kept him from thinking clearly.

Looking at the look of surprise and comprehension on Spot's face, he threw his head back and laughed. "Everyone here seems to love my language: _Ma non me la prendo con voi americani_."

An involuntary groan left Spot at the words he didn't understand, unconsciously bucking his hips upwards. Race let out a moan of pleasure at the movement and Spot focused on not moving too hard too quick. No matter what Race asked there were limits, physical and moral, that Spot wouldn't cross.

Spot started a slow pace, fucking upwards into that warm heat. It drove them both insane, and he picked up the pace when Race's tongue began to explore his neck again, clutching onto his hair for dear life.

He felt the need to get them on the bed right now so he did just that. Lifting the boy up and carrying him, lips attached to his neck, he absolutely relished in the gasp Race let out at the blatant show of strength.

 _"Il tuo corpo e' pazzesco_ ," he whispered. Spot moaned, a sharp tug at Race's hair, bringing a broken sob out of him and exposing more of that perfect pale neck.

"I have no idea what you're saying," he said. "But don't stop talking."

They landed on the bed in a tangle of limbs. Each roll of his hips hit Race's prostate, moaning in pleasure, spreading his legs so Spot could go in deeper.

"Look at you," he breathed out, running a hand down the boy's chest and leaving it to rest on his thigh. "Just taking all my cock like that. Fucking incredible."

" _E' tutta la sera che voglio saltarti addosso_ ," Race whimpered. "Was just hoping you'd notice me."

The boy's dancing was what made Spot notice him, yes, but there was no way he would have escaped Spot's eye. He only wished they had met earlier in the night.

He dug his nails into the boy's thighs, enjoying the whine that escaped Race. He leaned down to gently roll the boy's earlobe between his teeth, a sharp contrast to the even sharper thrusts into Race's body.

He muttered words of endearment into his ear but all Race could produce was " _Hnnngh_ ," head falling back onto the pillow under him. He threw his arms around Spot's neck.

" _Scopami fino a farmi dimenticare il mio nome_ ," Race moaned out and Spot understood the last phrase: my name. It didn't take a rocket scientist to understand what Race was asking.

The wave of pleasure that surged through him was so strong he couldn't even verbally respond. He just nodded and slowed the pace until he wasn't moving, letting Race adjust himself to where Spot was in as deep as he could be.

"Safe word?" He asked, and he saw a look on Race's face: astonishment.

"N-No one's ever asked," he replied. 

Spot blinked. Yes he had slept around, something he felt no shame in but didn't parade around either, but he had always given his partners use of a safe word.

Only once had the word been used, mainly because the boy's arm had been trapped under them and he couldn't move it, but still. It was something he always established.

He made sure that Race was looking at him, fully understanding how serious he was being and pulled out. "We're not doing anything you're not comfortable with. If you don't like doing it, then I don't _want_ to do it. I want you to enjoy this, so.. just choose a word and we'll use that."

Race looked at him, blinked once then twice, before a small smile played on his lips.

"You are one of the sweetest boys I've ever met."

Spot reeled back at that. He'd been called a lot of things in his life, but _sweet_ was not on that list.

"I am not sweet," he grumbled, but Race just laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Don't worry, it'll be our secret," he winked, and grinned when Spot smiled back hesitantly. 

Something in the room changed. Kissing his cheek seemed such a sweet, domestic thing to do. No one had ever done that.

"Hmm...how about..." 

Spot couldn't help but marvel at how adorable the boy looked when he was concentrating. Eyes squinted, eyebrows pushed together, nose scrunched up. 

Ok. 

What the actual _fuck_ was happening to him.

"...Corona?"

Spot blinked at him. "Like, the beer?"

"The cigars, actually."

He raised an eyebrow at him, smirk playing idly on his lips. "You smoke?"

"Not as much as I used to." He replied, quirking an eyebrow up, biting his lip as he looked Spot's face up and down.

"Fuck that's hot," he replied under his breath before placing his hands on the boy's thighs.

He spread the boy's legs slightly and was surprised when Race winked and spread them even further, almost into the splits. "Trained dancer," was all he said in response to Spot's wide eyes.

Spot couldn't wait another second.

He had gone slowly, pushed into him slower than before, and had kissed Race's body the entire way through. Spot didn't know if Race's moans had been caused by the cock in his ass, the lips on his body, or the words of encouragement being said to him. Maybe all three.

A low whine came from Race and Spot could _feel_ him go pliant, relaxing into him. Trusting him.

Without thinking, his hand came up to cup Race's face, fingers grazing his jawline.

Race's eyes widened at the touch and upon realizing what he was doing, Spot drew it back as quick as he could. There was an apology on his lips, but he didn't get the chance to voice it. Race reached for his hand and softly placed it back on his face.

"I don't mind at all," Race said softly, smiling up at him. " _Voglio che tu sappia che per me...tu sei ill ragazzo più dolce del mondo... e anche il più bello."_

Spot was surprised to find out he understood some of the words the Italian was saying, and he couldn't help but whisper back, " _Eres el chavalillo más hermoso que he visto en mi vida."_

The size to which Race's eyes was nearly comical.

" _Bastardo_!" He laughed, slapping Spot's chest playfully. "I didn't know you spoke Spanish!"

"You never asked," he joked, smiling a bit. This was all new to him. He had never smiled during sex before.

"Well I wish you had spoken up before," he said, laying a hand on Spot's chest and narrowing his eyes a little. "Spanish is _such_ a romantic language."

Spot squinted. "You speak _Italian_ , and you think Spanish is a roma--?"

"Don't ruin the mood, cretino."

Spot shut his mouth quick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma non me la prendo con voi americani - Not that I blame you Americans 
> 
> E' tutta la sera che voglio saltarti addosso - I've been wanting to jump you all night
> 
> Il tuo corpo e' pazzesco - Your body is insane 
> 
> Voglio che tu sappia che per me...tu sei ill ragazzo più dolce del mondo... e anche il più bello - I want you to know that for me ... you are the sweetest guy in the world ... and also the most beautiful
> 
> Eres el chavalillo más hermoso que he visto en mi vida - You are the most beautiful boy I have ever seen in my life


	4. Chapter 4

As Race's lips sucked yet another hickey into his neck (something Spot had consented to very _enthusiastically)_ , nails scraping at his skin, he grew excited to see himself in the mirror after this. Spot's back and shoulders would be red and marked up come morning, and he was glad. He'd wear those marks like goddamn battle scars. 

And it'd give him something to remember Race by, even if only for a short while. 

It was odd; never before had someone so easily and quickly affected him. He couldn't stand people easily and was 'difficult to get along with' (Jack's words not his) and yet this mystery boy made him laugh and smile and feel things he hadn't felt before. Spot didn't get it but he knew that leaving Race was going to hurt. A lot. And he didn't like it.

He decided to push those thoughts out of his mind and return to the boy underneath him. Race moaned loudly and unashamed as they fucked, making Spot's face heat up at the sound.

He felt bad for any couple that was trying to fuck next door because the bedframe banged against the wall so viciously, it would have resonated throughout the entire house had a party not been raging on downstairs. He also kinda felt bad for the wall.

Race's grip on his shoulder tightened suddenly. "Can I ride you?" He asked in between breaths and Spot had to focus hard on his own breathing. Jesus Christ this boy was going to be the death of him.

Not even taking the time to respond, Spot pulled out and rolled Race on top of him so quickly he almost launched him across the bed.

"Shit," he cursed as he had to grab Race to keep him from tumbling to the floor. "Sorry." 

Race only laughed, adjusting himself to make room for Spot in between his legs. "Lucky for you, I enjoy a bit of man-handling."

Winking, Race reached in between them and sunk onto him. Spot couldn't fucking believe how insanely good this boy was. It didn't take any time for Race to start fucking himself at a pace that was making Spot go insane, and the motherfucker was doing it with a goddamn _smirk_ on his lips. 

Oh he was a cocky little bastard all right. Spot found it all kinds of hot. 

His head fell back on the pillow, overcome with so many sensations, but he forced himself up to watch Race. He was as stunning as he was confident, and that was saying something. 

The boy's thick thighs and toned stomach clenching and working to fuck himself was a sight Spot wanted permanently etched into his memories. He ran his hands over his thighs, not wanting to miss a thing.

Race moved his hips, finding all the ways he could move and Spot just hung on for the ride. He was more than ok with Race doing anything he wanted to. Spot let himself be used; being able to run his hands over Race's body more than made up for it. 

When the Italian found his own prostate, he released a shocked sort of cry. "Fuck," he moaned, panting as he looked down at Spot with a raised eyebrow and (what Spot was suspecting was his signicture) smirk. "You wanna help me, _guapo_?" 

The pet name in his native tongue was a welcome surprise, one that made him moan and made Race laugh. He brought Race down to him, lips grazing his ear. "Leave it to me," he whispered, rolling his hips, just once, in a long stroke. Race's head fell back, a strangled groan floating up from his throat, and Spot took it as a sign to resume at the same pace. 

Throwing his head back, Race placed a hand down on Spot's chest as his other hand carded through his own hair. He cried out and yelped when both Spot's hands gripped into his thighs.

He said something in a teasing voice, something Spot didn't catch, beginning to laugh but it broke off as Spot's thrusts became faster and deeper.

Race was sending him a dirty look, but with how loud his moaning was and how he was fucking himself on Spot's dick, Spot couldn't take it that seriously. Just to fuck with him, Spot reached out and rubbed his left nipple between his fingers." _Mírate_ ," he all but cooed. "Pretty little _Católico tomando la polla_ like a whore."

"W-What makes you so sure I'm Catholic?"

Spot snorted, releasing his left nipple to focus on the right one. "You're Italian," he stated, and he took a second to lean forward to swirl his tongue around the nub, listening to Race squeal. "Comes with the territory."

"And you literally took off a crucifix the second you came up here."

"Ok, _ho afferrato_." The two laughed and Spot was once again hit by the fact that this felt right. This, Race and him, felt _comfortable_ and _natural_ and _right_.

"Fuck, right there," Race panted when Spot found what he was looking for. 

"Good," He said, and slammed his hips up.

That same startled cry came from Race, but this time it didn't stop. It kept going, rising in volume with the fast, punishing rhythm Spot fucked him with.

Spot maintained the angle to keep hammering against Race's prostate, forcing his eyes open just to see this.

Race's mouth hung open, only able to stutter out a string of curses and words of affirmation. Unruly blonde hair, blown out blue eyes, brow beading with sweat, sweat dripping off him, and bite marks littering his pale skin. His cock was drooling precome, some droplets landing on Spot's abdomen.

It was easily the most stunning thing Spot had ever seen.

"God, Race," he said, hands roaming every each of skin he could. "You look so fucking _beautiful_."

The second he said it, he blanched. 

Beautiful was a word Spot purposely avoided. It was a word his mother had used little in her life, saying she thought something was beautiful only when she knew it made her life complete. On her deathbed, she told him that the most beautiful thing in her life was her love for him. 

He had never used it for another person besides his mother. He didn't think his mother would approve.

If Race noticed about the word, he didn't say anything regarding it. 

"I'm c-close," He keened, falling forward to land on Spot's chest, trying to get closer to him even though there wasn't an inch of room between them. " _Già stai per venire, vero?_ Fuck me through it?" He begged, digging his fingers into Spot's hair.

Spot nodded fervently, not needing any further encouragement. He could feel his own orgasm building up in the pit of his stomach and knew that he wasn't going to last much longer. Wrapping his arms around Race's waist, he used the last of his energy to fuck Race harder than before.

If Spot thought Race was vocal before, it was nothing compared to now. It seemed as if the only words in Race's vocabulary were " _Yes!" "Dio!" "Holy shit!"_ and his volume only increased by the second. 

Knowing the boy was alarmingly close, he squeezed a hand in-between their bodies and wrapped it around Race's cock. Beginning to stroke him, Race nearly sobbed in pleasure.

The only warning Spot got was the painful sensation of hair being ripped out of his scalp and Race was coming over both their abdomens and Spot's hand with a scream.

Spot groaned at the sensation, but he didn't let up. No, he kept fucking Race at the same pace.

" _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ ," Race sobbed, and his hands came to cup Spot's face, startling him.

As if in slow motion, he saw Race lean in, and knew what he was going for.

His mind knew it was Race, _knew_ it was, but his mind also remembered the numerous hands that placed themselves in that exact place on this exact night, none nearly as pleasant. It was a yearly occurance.

He broke off the rythm and backed up so quickly, their heads banged together. He saw a look of confusion in those beautiful eyes, but he also saw himself in them: scared. 

Even then, before his mind could stop him from being so _fucking_ stupid, he said something he shouldn't have.

"C-Corona."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mírate. Pretty little Católico tomando la polla like a whore - Pretty little Catholic boy taking cock like a whore
> 
> Ok, ho afferrato - Ok that's fair
> 
> Già stai per venire, vero? - You're about to come, right?


	5. Chapter 5

Spot watched as Race searched the floor for his discarded clothes, boxers already on, and mutter a small prayer as he slipped his gold crucifix back on.

"I'm sorry," he said, because he had to. Had to say something.

"It's fine," Race snapped, tone speaking volumes. It wasn't. "I understand. Closet-football player doesn't want a boy kissing him."

The words stung. 

So many people assumed that because he was an athlete, he was ashamed of his sexuality. That he was alright with fucking on the down low. Spot was tired of it, but he couldn't blame the Italian. He had had sex with "straight" guys before: the situation sucked. 

"Race, that's not-"

"It doesn't matter." He spat, turning to Spot with a look of anger. It was an anger so vivid, Spot leaned back from the boy. "All you boys ever want is _una botta e via--"_

"I don't know what that means Race."

"--and that's fine. But you could have told me--"

"Told you what?"

"That this meant nothing to you!"

Spot reeled at the words, feeling each one like a bullet to the chest. Race himself looked shocked at his own words but he held his ground, staring Spot in the eye.

And that hurt even more.

"If you only wanted to 'hook-up" I wouldn't care," he said, and Spot could see him trying not to lose control of his temper. "But you called me _beautiful_." His voice cracked on the word. "We joked and laughed and you. Called. Me. Beautiful."

What was he supposed to say?

"Race--"

"I don't want to hear it," he said, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Race."

"Forget it. I'll go downstairs and this never happened."

" _Race_!"

He lunged over the bed and grabbed at his wrist. "Please just _listen to me_!"

Race struggled and Spot let him go, holding a hand out in surrender. He looked at Spot and jerked his head, in a reluctant go on gesture.

"Race... there's a reason why I don't like coming to this party," he said. "Every year at midnight... someone tries to kiss me. They don't _ask_ , they don't stop to think if I'm okay with it, they just do it."

Race was looking at him with more sorrow than anger now.

"And I'm _not_ okay with it! People think that just because I'm gay and out, I'll let them. Every year that same panic floods my system and I freak out because..." He took a deep breath and glanced at the ceiling before saying it.

"I've never been kissed."

Race blinked. "What?

"You heard me," he muttered, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Ever? Like, _ever_?"

"Well don't make me feel _bad_ about it."

A high school quarterback, built pretty fucking well if he said so himself, who was openly gay and who had never been kissed. He wasn't a prude or nothing, he was still naked after all, but the one belief he carried over from childhood was that love wasn't something to be rushed. Fucking was fine, sex was purely carnal, but _love_? 

  
  


Love was pure. Love was intimate. 

  
  


It was almost an irrational fear at this point in his life; his first had to mean something to him and it'd crush him if it happened any other way.

Race, to his merit, only looked at him for a moment before a look of guilt passed over his face. "You're not joking." He slumped down. "God, I'm an idiot. I never should have assumed and I should have asked. And then I _yelled_ at you--"

"Hey," he said, grabbing a hold of his hand. "I should have told you." He could have left it at that, but something in him told him to say what he truly wanted to say.

Deciding to take a risk for once, he leaned forward to place his other hand on Race's cheek.

Race's eyes widened but he didn't lash out, so Spot took in a deep breath and spoke. "I meant every word that I said. You are confident and cocky and funny and _God_ your body is amazing."

Race laughed at that, a small smile back on his face that put Spot at ease. "You might not be the first person to try to kiss me, but... you're the first I didn't mean to push away."

Race looked at him, staring into his eyes as if searching for something. Spot could get lost in those eyes. 

"You mean that?"

"...yeah. I do."

The second Spot said it, he knew it was true. He had known Race all of 2 hours but even then, he wanted more. Wanted to hold his hand and dance with him and have him cheer him on at his games and wear his hoodies and have dinner together. What was even more terrifying was that he could see it. And God, he wanted it.

Race opened his mouth to say something but closed it just as quick. "I think now might be a good time to ask... what's your name?"

The embarrassed smile on his face only made Spot laugh. It definitely eased his nerves after what he just said. "Sean Conlon. But I go by Spot."

Race smiled wider. "It makes sense: you're tiny." He giggled when Spot scowled at him. "My friends call me Racetrack but my name is Antonio. Antonio Luca Giovanni Higgins."

Spot laughed at the absolute Italian-ness of it. _Antonio_ , he thought. _A beautiful name for a beautiful boy._ "Well, Antonio," he said, hesitantly interlocking their fingers. "I don't know about you, but I really don't wanna go back downstairs."

His hand was on Race's thigh now, and that smirk was back on his face. "What did you have in mind?"

"I want to stay up here with you," he said, and Race's smirk turned into a smile. A genuine one. "Turn on the TV and watch movies and sober up so when it's midnight we can celebrate up here with even _more_ alcohol."

"We can't just stay in someone's room, Spot," Race countered, but the mischief in his eyes said otherwise. He almost outright whined at how good his name sounded on the Italian's lips, and Race caught on.

The two were incredibly close now, so Spot wasn't too surprised when the boy swung his leg over him and promptly sat in his lap. His hands went to his thighs immediately, holding onto them like they were made with him in mind. "I don't know," Spot said, fingers finding the band of his boxers. "The guy who lives here wouldn't mind." He was about to yank his boxers down when the door slammed open.

Spot jumped back, suddenly realizing he was as naked as the day he was born, turning to the open doorway. Race cursed in Italian but didn't move an inch and Spot realized he was blocking him from the sight of the two people in the doorway. 

" _John Francis Sullivan Kelly Larkin_!"

Said boy jolted apart from his partner, meeting Spot's angry gaze.

"Oh, shit!" Jack exclaimed slurring his words, looking between the two boys, oblivious to Race's beet red face or Spot's pointed death glare. He hiccuped, not even looking apologetic. "Spot, we thought you left!"

"So you decided to use my room?" He glared at him.

"In our defense," Crutchie said, who even drunk had the decency to look away. "Someone's using Jack's"

At the exact same time, Jack looked at Race, still sitting in Spot's lap with his hands basically on the Italian's ass, smiling like nothing was wrong, and said, "Spot, you must'a done something right to get this boy to come up here with you. He's _way_ out of your league."

Spot's face turned red (out of embarrassment or anger, he didn't know) while Race laughed quietly. He promptly ignored Jack's comment. "So go fuck in a closet!"

"Hey," Jack stage-whispered, leaning forward. "Can we use your bathroom?"

_"Get the fuck out!"_

Crutchie nodded and pulled Jack away. "Have fun fucking my brother!" he managed to yell before Crutchie closed the door behind, the two laughing like love-stricken dumbasses.

"Leave it to Jack to cockblock me," Spot muttered to himself. He loved his brother, but he was going to murder him.

"So," Race said, half accusatory half amused and Spot reluctantly met his gaze. "You're the 'guy-who-lives-here.'"

Spot shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "Did I not already say that?"

"And you have a brother. Who is Jack Kelly. The guy who is throwing this party."

"... yeah."

Race raised an eyebrow. "So this is definitely your house. And we just so happened to end up in your bedroom?"

"Hey, you opened the door, I followed. I just never said it was my bedroom you decided to ransack. It was pure luck and convenience."

Race laughed, looking around the room they had been using for the past hour. The trophies lining the wall, the posters and photos, his TV, his stuffed animals on his desk chair, his bookshelf, his mini-fridge. He hummed appreciatively and Spot cleared his throat.

"So... is that a yes to movies? I can't have sex now knowing my brother knows I'm having sex-- not that I'm embarrassed of you or something! Just, I-- uh, thought we could, um--"

Race leaned down and kissed the top of his head, effectively shutting him up.

He pulled back and carded a hand through Spot's hair. "You know? I'd really like that."

"But," he continued, "if we're doing that, I'm gonna take a shower. I'm not going to cuddle with you without cleaning up."

It took a second for the words to register and when they did, both boys stopped in their tracks. Race turned beet-red and began stuttering, and Spot thought it was endearing.

"Cuddling, huh?" He asked, smirking and feeling glad that at least once tonight, Race was as flustered as he was.

"I mean, uh, only if you want to. That was dumb, just ignore that, I don't know what I was thinking--"

"Hey," he interrupted, cutting off Race's nervous rambling. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm a cuddle-bug. How about I get you a towel and I pick out a movie?"

"Or you could just join me in the shower," Race challenged, cockiness rearing it's head once more. He glanced down in appreciation before meeting Spot's gaze. "You're already naked."

Never before had Spot met someone confident (or cocky) enough to taunt him. Everyone else was too scared to challenge him, but Race enjoyed it. Like he thought it would be an adventure or something. Race didn't have any preconceived notions of him, and Spot counted it as a blessing.

"In that case," he grinned.

"A shower would be great."


	6. Chapter 6

Spot hadn't smiled this much in a long time. Actually, he wasn't sure he'd smiled so much in his entire _life_.

The two got out of the shower after about 20 minutes of simply standing under the spray of warm water. Race had sheepishly said he was too tired to do much besides some hand play, and Spot immediately told him there was no way in hell he was going to pressure him into sex, so Spot took it upon himself to only make him feel comfortable.

Anyone listening in on them would have thought they were having sex due to all the moaning, but it was simply because of how nice it felt to have someone's hand roam their body in a way that wasn't inherently sexual. Spot had to hand it to Romeo's romance novels and movies: Race washing his hair was easily the most relaxing sensation he'd ever felt.

They had gotten out once the water turned cold and quickly dried off. Race looked for his clothing and Spot quietly remembered he hadn't exactly been gentle in undressing the boy. Race jumped at the offer to wear one of Spot's hoodies and sweatpants in place of the (now partially ripped due to his fault) shirt he came in.

Spot would rather die than admit how much he enjoyed seeing the Italian in his clothes.

He could physically feel his heart skip a beat when he turned and saw Race hugging one of his teddy bears, baby-talking to it in Italian.

He was glad Race's eyes were clamped shut, because Spot took longer than necessary to just admire the boy. He seemed more... relaxed now, in clothing a bit baggy on him, more himself. Spot smiled before returning to rummaging through his drawers.

Finally finding and tugging on a pair of sweatpants for himself, Spot closed the drawer. When he turned around, he saw Race had shifted his attention onto the posters on his wall.

"Who is she?" He asked, pointing to the biggest one he had.

It was a bit faded from age, the poster was as old as Spot, and had it's tears, but it was obvious Spot took good care of it. It showed a stage, with a stunningly gorgeous black woman's mouth open in song, dressed in a vintage gown. The years had been kind to the woman, she was still as beautiful as the day the photo had been taken. It was a poster advertising her theatre and it was Spot's favorite.

"That's Miss Medda Larkin," he said, looking up at the poster. "Used to perform at the Irving Hall theatre, but that was years ago. Now she just manages it. She's every bit amazing now as she was then."

Spot didn't notice his tone turned wistful until Race turned to smile at him.

"Is that a crush you have?" The boy teased.

Spot sputtered and looked at Race in near horror. "God no. That's my Ma."

Race's smile dropped quick and his brow furrowed as he looked between Spot and the poster. Well great. Now he'd done it. He mentally sighed, preparing himself for the questions he always got.

" _Oh is your dad Mexican?"_

_"Why aren't you black?"_

_"You sure you're not adopted or something?"_

It didn't matter that Spot wasn't Mexican and that everyone knew he was a former foster kid, he'd get asked regardless. Spot was sure Race would ask the same, but the Italian just looked incredulous.

"You call your mother by her _first name?"_

Spot stood there, blinked, and laughed. It was definitely the first time someone had asked him that and there something real sweet 'bout how Race sounded genuinely offended on behalf of his Ma.

He walked over to his desk and pulled a frame off the wall. In it was a newspaper with the headline _'Broadway Star Adopts 2 Boys'_ , showing a black and white photo of a 13 year old Spot and 14 year old Jack hugging Medda in a courtroom. He handed it to Race.

"The adoption went through in 2015. I was 13, but I met her years before that. Never had reason to call her anything but 'Miss Medda.'"

He half expected Race to ask for his tragic back story, and he was half ready to tell him, but all the Italian did was sigh in relief. 

"Oh thank God," Race replied, pressing a hand to his heart in a very Italian gesture. "If you were the type of boy to not respect his mother, I'd leave." He playfully raised an eyebrow. "No matter how cute you are."

For the first time in his life, Spot was grateful that his melanin made it hard for him to blush. "Shut up," he grumbled and Race laughed.

Spot realized he was growing to love that laugh. 

They settled on Disney+ as their streaming service and Race flopped onto his bed. Before he could suggest anything, Race pulled him in close, his chest pressed against Spot's back.

Had anyone else tried, he'd have swung at them. But this? This felt nice. This felt safe.

So he only smiled, shut up, pulled a blanket over them, and pushed play on his phone.


	7. Chapter 7

Two Coca-Cola's, a bowl of popcorn, a bag of Skittles, and a ton of shitty jokes later, Spot poured themselves two glasses of champagne from a bottle he had snuck into his room, trying to catch his breath from laughing so hard. 

They were now just a few minutes from midnight and the commotion outside the room was just getting louder.

Both boys were glad they weren't downstairs with every other drunk teenager: it was nice upstairs and it felt as if they were the only two people on the planet, cuddling and laughing too hard over running commentary about Disney movies. 

The conversation for a while turned to them. Spot told Race about all the stupid shit him and Jack did as kids, about his foster homes, about his adoption, about his culture, about his mother and how she got sick, his friend group, and dozens of other topics that came to mind. Race, in turn, told him about his childhood in Italy, his parents, how he decided to become a foreign exchange student, his 10 years as a dancer, how he got his nickname due to his love of the racetracks, and random tidbits of his life. 

The past three hours were easily the best hours of his life. 

It was hard for Spot to get up, it turned out he was a fan of being a little spoon, but he did it when his phone alarm went out 5 minutes before the countdown. 

"Resolutions?" He asked as he handed one of the glasses to Race and settled down on the bed next to him. 

"It's a very American tradition," Race said, taking the glass with a smile. "Resolutions aren't something I've done before. But what about you?" 

Spot bit his lip as he put the bottle of champagne down on his bedside table. He knew what it was, but it was embarrassing. "You won't laugh?" 

Race very solemnly put his fingers to his lip and pantamimed zipping it shut and throwing away the key. 

"Alright then," Spot chuckled, taking a sip of champagne to calm his nerves. 

"My New Year's Resolution is to let myself fall in love." 

Ever since Spot was little, he dreamed of finding his Knight in shining armor. The perfect man to take him away from all the turmoil of his life and make him happy. 

He still wished he had someone who would give him a smile, would wink at him, would grab his hand and sneak a kiss, the way his friends did with their significant others. 

Spot was older now, and he knew perfect men didn't exist and knew that he didn't need a significant other to be happy, but he still held out hope that he would find someone. 

Maybe this year would be the year. 

"Really?" Race asked, and Spot nodded. "Is that why you were wearing red earlier?" 

It was a common superstition in Latin American culture that wearing red on New Years Eve would bring luck in love to the wearer, so Spot thought he had nothing to lose. 

He nodded again and he could feel that Race wasn't judging him, was just asking. That was new: his friends would have teased him relentlessly.

"People do that in Italy too," Race said gently, sipping his champagne. "New Year's brings out the superstitious in us, I suppose." 

Both boys jolted as the music that had served as background noise for the past 3 hours stopped suddenly. 

" _30 seconds left_!" They could hear Jack's voice, and what could be described as a roar emitted from the crowd downstairs. 

_"30, 29, 28--!"_

"Happy New Year," Spot said, holding out his glass, and Race laughed. 

"We're not there _yet, tonto_ ," Race teased, but he still clinked his glass against Spot's. 

"I know. I just wanted to say it."

He took another sip of his champagne, but alcohol was the last thing on his mind. 

The thing on his mind was how soft Race's lips looked. 

" _24, 23, 22--!"_

He decided to down his drink in one gulp and placed it on the bedside table, needing some courage for what he was about to do. 

"Race?"

"Yeah?" 

"...I would really like to kiss you at midnight." 

_"17, 16, 15--!"_

Spot was glad the boy had drunk all his champagne as well (and had put his glass down) because had he been drinking it would have become a spit-take. 

"Wait, _what_?" 

"I'd like to kiss you," Spot said, more confidently, liking the thought more as he said it aloud. 

He'd had fleeting thoughts of people he wanted to have his first kiss with before: A boy who worked at a bodega he liked who always went out of his way to ask about his day in a sweet accent; the young bartender who waved from the window every day with a smile and once let Spot stay at the counter when a storm caught him by surprise; the boy who worked at the movie theater he and his friends went to at least once every two weeks. 

But none of them were real. Not in the way that Race was. 

_"13, 12, 11--!"_

"I, uh, don't _mind_ , hell I want to kiss you too," Race blurted out, cheeks bright red as he spoke so quickly Spot could barely understand him. "But I- I don't want you to regret anything!" 

"You think I'd regret it?" Spot asked gently, smiling a bit as "I want to kiss you too" played on a loop in his mind. 

_"9, 8, 7--!_ " 

"Of course you would!" Race cried out, panic creeping into the boy's voice. "You've waited your whole life for this, and yeah I _really_ like you--"

_I really like you_

That was all it took for Spot to lean forward. 

_"3, 2, 1!"_

The last number was called out the second their lips touched and Spot couldn't help but close his eyes. 

_"Happy New Year!"_

Spot had spent an embarrassingly long portion of his life imagining how his first kiss would feel, but none of his fantasies could have come close to _this_. 

It began as a simple pressing of lips; Race didn't move at first, but when Spot didn't pull away, he hesitantly kissed him back. 

He was reminded of something Jack had told him. He had said that the first time he had kissed Crutchie, he had seen sparks. 

Spot saw _fireworks_. 

Race's lips tasted like champagne and ... something else. Something sweeter. Spot found himself pressing a bit harder, chasing that taste he couldn't quite place. He moved in closer, tilting his head slightly to better the angle, leaving Race enough room to pull away if he wanted to.

He didn't.

Softly, Race parted Spot's lips and brought his hand up to cup Spot's face. The warm contact brought an unexpected whine out of him and Race pulled him in closer.

Spot moaned into the kiss as someone's (he _genuinely_ doesn't know, he's too dazed) tongue darted out, and the other complied with parting their lips.

For years Spot had wondered why the hell people enjoyed having someone else's tongue in their mouth but now? Oh _God_ , now he understood. 

He barely noticed Race's hand land on his waist, but when the Italian pulled him in even more, he willingly followed. 

Spot wouldn't go as far to call himself a submissive person, but when it became obvious that Race wanted to lead, he was more than happy to let him. 

Within seconds, Spot found himself falling backwards, back hitting his mattress, fingers running through Race's curls as Race's hands gripped at his waist.

Part of him was thinking, " _This is a lot for your first,"_ but another, not so rational part of him was thinking " _Kiss the boy with all you got"_

You can imagine which side won. 

Spot wasn't a noisy person, never had been, but this kiss was bringing sounds out of him he'd never made before. 

He would have been embarrassed, but the noises spurred Race on, who was rapidly increasing the intensity of their kiss. Each whine brought another drag of Race's tongue, another bite, another hard press. He was soon moaning on purpose just so Race would be a bit rougher with him. With a slight thrill, Spot realized his lips were definitely going to be bruised.

Spot was glad suddenly that they were both athletes and had endurance and stamina, but even they needed to breathe. He reluctantly pulled away only when his lungs felt they were going to burst. 

Spot rested his forehead on Race's, mouth slightly parted as he panted, catching his breath. Spot thought _he_ was a wreck but Race wasn't much better off. 

The Italian was fully gasping for breath, hands running up and down Spot's sides as he muttered in Italian. 

"Y-You _swear_ that was your first kiss?" He said after a moment, looking down at Spot. 

He couldn't help but chuckle, even if it came out as more of a breathless huff. "I guess I'm a fast learner." 

Race laughed too, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "little piece of shit" before cupping his face and pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

Just like earlier, Spot was surprised at how domestic the gesture was and how much he enjoyed it. 

Spot had heard of people wanting to live inside moments but had never experienced it himself: not until now. 

He didn't want Race to leave him. And he didn't want to leave Race.

"Hey," The Italian said, making Spot look up to meet those beautiful blue eyes. He had to stretch his neck a bit but having Race on top of him more made up for it. "What are you thinking about?"

The question was nonchalant but Spot could hear the underlying tone of worry. Race was still worried he would regret their kiss and he couldn't have that. So Spot told him the truth. 

"... about how much I'd like to take you out. On a date." 

Never had he liked or cared enough about a person to want to take them out. Dating wasn't something he thought he'd do, but he knew he couldn't lose Race, not when they had just met. 

For a moment, Race only looked down at him, not saying anything, and Spot feared he had gone too far. But then his face broke into the biggest smile he'd given that night. 

"I'd be very offended if you didn't." 

To say that his heart leaped was a gross understatement. 

Spot reached for the boy's hand and held it gingerly. "I didn't regret that kiss for a second, Antonio. And I hope you'll let me do it again soon: preferably over dinner or something nice like that." 

Race laughed, one that made him throw his head back. "You're ridiculous," he said but it sounded like a good thing. "I'm up for anything, as long as I'm with you."

It was a sweet statement, one that made him smile so widely it physically hurt, and Spot didn't hesitate in leaning forward to press their lips together a second time. 

This time, Race met him halfway. 

Their second kiss was softer than their first, but no less sweeter. It was the kind of kiss a 12-year-old Spot had dreamed of, the kind of kiss that made your toes curl and feel butterflies in your stomach. 

He pulled away, and looked at the boy above him. 

Blue eyes as wide as a doe's, face clean from it's earlier makeup, unruly curls the color of his gold crucifix, rosy cheeks, a blue hoodie that was Spot's but that he wore so much better, and a smile so bright it made the sun look dull. 

He'd think his mother would be alright with him adding Race to his list of beautiful things in life. 

Race had asked him earlier how he had the patience to wait however many years for his first kiss, and he replied with _"It's just something worth waiting for."_

Somehow, looking up at Race, Spot felt drunk and acutely aware of everything going on around them at the same time. He felt like he was floating on air.

Spot felt like he could fall in love.

"Do you remember what you asked me earlier?" He asked. "About patience?"

"Yes," Race responded, albeit a bit timidly. "What about it?"

He smiled and laid a kiss on Race's cheek. There was still a chance this would go nowhere. There was still the fact that Race would leave for home in a few months. They were next to complete strangers. Their date could go horribly and they could end up never wanting to see each other again. It was completely possible Spot was setting himself up for heartbreak. But he felt ready to take that chance. 

"You were worth waiting for." 

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my 2018 drafts and decided to rework it and finish it! About a week later, here it is!
> 
> Sorry I'm a little late for New Year's but I hope you enjoy the fic nonetheless.
> 
> Thanks for reading and make sure to comment! I crave validating!!!! Thanks!


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